


Spotlight

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Dragon Age: Asunder Creative Writing Challenge, Gay Pride, Happy Ending, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, No Fluff, Romance, Stubborn Harry Potter, Suspense, brave Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 07:44:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21454501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Coming out is not easy. Sometimes it can ruin their social lives. But Harry would not tell the truth and ready to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban in the name of Draco's honor.To Draco, the only option is giving up his everything and coming out, if he wants to save the one he loves.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 43
Collections: LGBT fics





	Spotlight

**Author's Note:**

> "No masters or kings when the ritual begins  
There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin  
In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene  
Only then I am human  
Only then I am clean "- 
> 
> Take me to church - By Hozier.....
> 
> Love is not framed or labeled. Love can start as a perfect one night stand but it can move on to an unconditional passionate blood bond. And then you will sacrifice anything.

"I must not tell lies."  
How ironic his heart is mute.  
Should he tell the lie?  
But he must NOT tell the truth. They don't deserve the truth. It has to be buried deep within him as long as it takes. And he might lose his everything. His glory and grace and his sanity including himself to this untold truth. Perhaps Azkaban will be the only option. 

Yet, the world doesn't deserve the truth.

They will think that the war hero has finally gone rogue because the war has cracked him, and he's now insane. They will pity him, or they will detest him, or they will compose their own theories of how heroes break and fall apart. 

But who cares, if the truth is butter mellow and freshly ground coffee in a quiet vanilla morning when he's around?

Nothing else matters. 

He has bled enough to know, that the world is not his cathedral, law and order is blind and soulless, and humanity is bleeding. It doesn't matter anymore. So he wants to hide it.  
Hide him.  
Hold the truth of him inside his heart and protect him from the sick shrine of lies and all these grim faces before him.

What might he be doing anyway? His cold sweaty palms probably trembling in agitation, his silver grey turned very red right now, fear smeared on his pale skin, sleek blond hair unkempt and messy, biting his pink nails pacing up and down in his massive room or crouched in a corner awaiting hate and regret? Harry doesn't blame him. Nor he blames fate. 

He doesn't blame even Dolores Umbridge. Despite the solemnity of the surrounding for the fact the evil woman is killed in her house, and Kingsley's anxiety, and Mr Weasley's grim face, and Hermione weeping, Harry sniggers. Oh, how ironic! She is torturing him even in her tragic death. She had loathed Harry throughout her evil life full of cruelty and wickedness and finally victorious in her horrible death.  
Whoever her murderer is Harry has neither grudge nor affection for, but is in a delirious need to chortle for the ridiculous situation he is in now. The wizengamot is under the impression that Harry has committed the murder as a payback in his unresolved grudge against her, given her torture is still visible on his skin.  
And Harry won't say it. He won't provide his alibi and is perfectly comfortable with it. Finally, he is successful in Occlumency to protect his favourite person on earth.

He let every sweeter memory drip down the walls of his brain shutting it from the derisive questioning and remarks of the wizengamot. He might want to do this quite often to let the hours and days pass in Azkaban. But the question keeps spinning in his brain despite every secret flavour they have tasted behind closed doors and in cloaked rooms. 

Will he miss Harry too? Will he pay a visit when Harry's in Azkaban? Or will he move on? Will he forget everything and pretend it never happened?  
He received his letter in the afternoon, just as he had finished reading his case file. His heart uncontrollably leapt with a jolt at the sight of his handwriting as it had always done. He sighed running his finger along the slanting ink prints. His very polite address, respect and formality made him laugh. Yet he had always loved his proud pompous manners. 

He apparated inside the Muggle Hotel suite in Kensington as was instructed in the note. He didn't care, because every time it happened, he felt as just a teenager who recklessly ran into his first love but even as an eighteen-year-old school boy he didn't act this reckless. In fact, he was pretty sure of creating mayhem appearing at the wrong place at the wrong time. But Harry craved him too.  
And he was there.

Desperate,  
Anxious,  
Yearning,  
Paler than usual,  
His white Henley shirt unbuttoned hanging over his trousers,  
Barefoot.  
He sprinted at Harry even before his every part had materialized from thin air and clung to him as if he had just found his live wire to his dying soul. He breathed Harry, inhaled him, with a muffled grunt, conveyed glee and complaints of many useless things and several demands, and then his quivering lips on every bit of his revealing skin.  
Heart was rushing,  
Alive,  
Warm,  
Happy.

That was the whole truth the Wizengamot doesn't have to know.

For the past couple of months Harry has obeyed this wild summoning in a muggle hotel, or in Grimmauld place or at Malfoy Manor or in his enchanted massive continental Gt3-R with the same heat, the same raging rioting kiss, groping and clinging. 

And the whole truth rippling in Harry's brain and nothing but the truth is-

The way he offers his carnal lemon body, unconditionally revealing his silk smooth vulnerable ripe, submitting beneath Harry over and over again, after his usual greeting of kissing and examining his fingers to toes to every curly lock of his black hair; and the look on his face when Harry makes love to him.......  
Sometimes gazing into his wild grey eyes and sometimes just raw and plain, raving and wild.  
And there are also those raging moments when he demands too, his glory, wild and with no mercy, his smooth masculinity over Harry, his lean body hard against him, raging in him, causing pain, causing pleasure, yet Harry knows his blood is sweeter than every wine. 

Harry has never tried to pinpoint how he got stuck in his candy storm, but he remembers every touch and every embrace. Perhaps it all started when there was a sudden blackout in the ministry, and they were stuck in the elevator for an hour listening to each other's breathing. Perhaps it was at the year-end party at the ministry when Harry saw him kissing a certain blonde witch and later she was sucking him in a dark corner of the deserted rooftop. Perhaps it was at Professor McGonagall's farewell party at Hogwarts castle when he sneaked out, very drunk, with a pretty lad and Harry's half drunk and half thirsty mind ended up barging in to the empty classroom when they were stroking each other wildly.  
Perhaps that's when it started for the "other one" had to exit leaving Harry to have the dessert. Malfoy sniggered taking a gulp from his glass of wine too drunk to stop, his white hand moving milking himself inside his unbuttoned trousers ignoring Harry. , but he dropped the glass with a loud gasp the next moment allowing the warm and thirsty whiskeyed mouth do the job for him without a protest. And started running his fingers in Harry's black messy curls pulling and fondling and chuckling with sheer glee. 

Has he ever wanted to end it or not? Has Harry wanted to end it?  
Unanswered questions are still unanswered but the truth is, his kiss deepens each day, touch getting warmer and embrace getting more solemn, and grey eyes larger searching for meaning in his green and promising unknown promises burying Harry deeper and deeper in him. And Harry has always known, what is shimmering in his silver grey is not just a lie.  
His heart might not be so brass but his blood is still red and Harry feels it running in his veins. Draco is not cold.  
When hours become long nights through making love to arguments to making up yearning more and more of each other, (and in the last couple of days he has chosen to fall a sleep in Harry's arms forgetting the whole world) it's harder to ignore that a heart is a heavy burden and now hearts are involved in this chaotic vanilla situation.  
He doesn't leave and cannot leave when it is time to leave but still kisses intently locking Harry in his world. Time stops leaving two hearts in one home, his forehead against Harry's, eyes closed breathing him in, his warm hands running down the sides of his face the consoling timeless moments when it is time to leave.  
Every farewell.

Who cares when Harry is in his unknown truth? 

'Aren't you leaving?' Harry smiles.  
'Hmmmmm!' his hands moves in Harry's hair and then slowly down his back pulling him to a closer embrace kissing his cheek and resting his head against Harry's, over his shoulder lost in a mild cradling.  
'What if Daily Prophet barges into this.? Huh...?' Harry is not the slightest worried. He has always been proud to say it out loud that he owns the pretty blond man.  
'I cloaked the room.' his clever reply.  
'So what if Daily Prophet finds out?' Harry knows his voice sounds desperate.  
But it will be the end of his time, for spotlights and cameras flashing and tabloid articles feasting on them and perhaps this stolen moment of a hotel room will end his carrier. He will be outcast of his ancient bloodline. Life will be difficult for his blood.  
His delicacy is not red enough to bear the burden of truth. Yet Harry wonders if only they couldn't be enough? Forever? Definitely not enough. Harry wants more.  
To wake up with him in the morning.  
Perhaps to make pancakes.  
To go on a proper date.

Then Dolorous Umbridge decides to get killed leaving her hatred in the latest newspaper article and Harry has never planned the rest of his life in Azkaban.  
On the contrary he hasn't planned to be detained in his prison cell either. Finally, the sole descendant of the ancient Malfoy blood line has gone down on his knees and cuffed the mighty "Chosen One" in his world bound to his love and perhaps duct taped.  
'You've got to understand me!' Harry hears him whisper in every corner of the courtroom.  
The wizengamot is on the verge of returning the unanimous guilty verdict.  
'Harry please!' he hears Hermione's plea through her sobs. 

And then,  
The door opens in the court room and a ministry official walks in with a man; tall, lean, his rich charisma in pure black suit, not a single strand misplaced in his shining blond pushed back, in his usual rigid stance making the thick wizengamot hiss and mutter partly in disapproval and partly astonished.  
He hands a letter to the chief warlock and stands next to Harry who is now standing, unable to remain in his seat for his blood is frozen, head buzzing and vision blurring leaving only the side profile of the slim tall white blond man, paler than usual. His Adam's apple moves beautifully as he watches the jury in his stiff poise trying not to break and holding it firm.  
'Mr Malfoy, you provide an alibi to Mr Potter.'  
'Yes!'  
Harry can feel the slight tremble in his voice.  
'Can you prove it because your letter says you concealed the magic you used?'  
'I can prove it.' he swallows again blinking calmly providing a file to the wizengamot. 'Medical report from StMungos! Evidence is all over me.'  
He takes a deep breath.  
'He's all over me.'  
It's not only Harry who is feeling the heat of red-hot strength of the Malfoy-Black blood running in his veins now. Perhaps they are envious of the brave sweetness in it. He's quietly yelling that he's only human too. Perhaps it's not only Harry's trial. Perhaps it's his trial too.  
And Harry is swelling. Swelling with Pride. He doesn't know if the jury detests him or Mr Weasley disgusts him or Kingsley has a low opinion, but he knows the fact war hero or not, he's only human too.  
'Do you understand that you also accept that you have a sexual relationship with the defendant by this Mr Malfoy? It's going to affect you and your whole family and....'  
'I LOVE HIM!'  
He is trembling. He is flushing. His eyes are stars glittering in moonless lonesome but his voice is clear. He doesn't look at Harry. His eyes fixed at the wizengamot, and he doesn't look down.  
'I always have!'  
And then he walks away in his usual Pride and beauty leaving the courtroom in a ringing silence. 

Hermione has stopped crying and beaming but the jury, in petrified shock. It takes some long agitated moments for them to come out of the trance to return the "Not Guilty" verdict finding no human law against Malfoy's revelation.

That's it. 

Harry walks out of the court room to a rumbling mayhem outside the ministry where the world of free media is soaring for their bacon. He is finally standing under a huge spotlight. The world is blazing. Cameras flashing. Tabloids ranting. Harry is burning in the loud and bright ugly of the world, finding bacon in his love for him. Ron appears from nowhere and drags him away yelling at the many reporters trying to get a glimpse of him. Hermione and Arthur Weasley follow with solemn faces.

Harry needs him more than ever.  
He is probably sitting somewhere in this wild world where every grace is gone, waiting for Harry, learning to live it, learning to be himself and learning to love just under the spotlight. And Harry wants to get away from this raving ugly and find him. Perhaps go far away from this animal kingdom and just be with him. Harry himself bears witness to human violence and cruelty and fresh poison everyday but the only heaven he can ever be in and only pure he feels is when he is alone with him. It's clean. It's holy. It's his Pride.  
Draco is his Pride.


End file.
